


Verdant Winds with You

by Natendo, spacegreentea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Romance, Everyone Needs A Hug, Feelings, Feral Behavior, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21959260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natendo/pseuds/Natendo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegreentea/pseuds/spacegreentea
Summary: Sylvain José Gautier likes to think he is not a total pushover.He wants what is best for his friends and really wants to save the future of the Kingdom.With Dimitri unhinged and his heart numb, it is up to his best friend Felix to guide him out of the constricting grip of the delusional prince.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. A Shard of Ice

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be turning very dark and may be extremely triggering.  
It will contain graphic scenes of rape, self harm and heavy angst.  
Please be mindful and continue at your own risk.

"Things aren´t looking good around the western border either, Cornelia's forces are dismantling what little resistance remains and the sudden outburst from Sreng may be a strong blow to our forces. We must act with caution."

Ingrid's brows were furrowed. She had called for a council meeting since Gilbert had gone on a supply check with Ashe, and Rodrigue still hadn´t returned from his last mission. Time was running out and of the absolute essence.  
While she had secured the support of her father and received troops from Galatea territory, the kingdom was being torn apart.  
Without a strong leader to hold the fraying seams together, the once tightly knit Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was at the mercy of the goddess now.  
  
It has been nearly 5 years since Edelgard had declared war upon the church.  
5 years since the whole world came crumbling down around them.   
Byleth had been swallowed from the surface of the earth.  
Rhea was missing since the Battle of Garreg Mach, along with the last remnants of peace known to the realm.

Felix rose from his chair, "This is futile, we are fighting a war we can´t possibly begin to win it´s-"

"Maybe if you had been friendlier during our school days, more people would have joined our house!" the blonde retorted, jade eyes frustrated and veiled by exhaustion.

This hit a nerve in Felix. Annette decided to delicately step in before things got too heated.

"How is His Highness doing..?"

Sylvain swallowed this time. He had tried his best to not let the claustrophobic atmosphere get to him, but he had certainly hoped the topic of the demented crown prince would remain under wraps at least until the next meeting.

"He has rejected every single meal I cook... he has not stopped muttering to himself either..." Annie's voice dropped concern lacing into her soft voice.

Mercedes nodded, "The priests are afraid of offering guidance to the people and with him pacing-" she was cut off by a sharp inhale from Felix.

"I told all of you long ago, I warned you that _that_ is his true nature but none of you would listen!" he crosses his arms and glares daggers at the empty council chair, the one reserved for Dimitri.

"Would you stop Felix?! We are trying to figure out a temporary solution here, can´t you see that you are not helping?" Ingrid was on her last bits of patience. A tense silence settled in the council room. Now it was a contest between the young heirs of Galatea and Fraldarius sizing each other up.  


Sylvain stepped in, putting a gentle hand on Felix´s shoulder. Grounding.

"I can check on His Highness. I´ve known him longer than most of you, I´ll see what I can do" he smiled, his eyes serious and reflecting none of the happiness his lips suggested.

He had perfected the art of masking his emotions for years. Between unrequited feelings of the romantic variety, the lack of affection in his too frigid home and fractured memories of his resentful brother, the heartache was sharp. Sharp like the finest blade piercing through a butter-soft heart, bleeding out and growing cold as time went on.   
Sylvain had learned to stay strong. He was the eldest of his friends, the protector and future tower watch at the wall of Sreng.  
His sworn duty was to keep what he loves safe and sound.  
If he falls, the Kingdom does too.  
His father, the Margrave, had always ensured that Sylvain was well aware of how important his role as the next heir of House Gautier was.  
How grave his duty as the next in line was.

"-vain?" a low voice next to him pulled the redhead out of his reverie, thoughts of home and duty pushed aside.  
As the picture focused, so did the little indents on the chairs wooden backrest, where he had absently pressed his fingertips in too firm.   
The worry on the raven-haired man's face coming into clear view.

"Sylvain, are you well?" Felix rarely showed this much concern openly, but it seems the young Gautier´s mask had slipped and made the entire room shift into something too questioning for his liking.

"What? Me? I´m great, just hungry haha" he grinned and made his way to the door, casually brushing off the sudden hand on his wrist and alarmed look on Felix's face.

"I´ll take care of His Highness today, bet he´s starving as well, right? I will get him something to eat, excuse me"

"Sylvain?" but Felix was not fast enough.

With the doors heavy _thud_ as it shut closed behind him, Sylvain felt the need to take a ride.  
Take a ride and gallop as far into the north as the stretches of solid land and ice would allow. He needed to feel the biting frost, the one that he knew so very well. The one he felt when his brother Miklan would lovingly lock him into the stables. When he had carelessly shoved him down the well.  
Or the time he had left him out in the deepest part of the black woods near Sreng. It took Sylvain nearly half a moon to find his way home, the stars guiding his somber silhouette through white crisp forests, trying not to succumb to the gentle embrace of a snowy blanket and the wintry cold. 

He leaned back on the stone wall, sinking to his knees and tipping his head back, running calloused fingertips over the ridges of large granite slabs, absorbing the cool smooth surface and the texture of clustered quartz and muscovite. How many breakdowns had these walls seen since being built into the castle of Arianrod...

Now, Sylvain was anxiously chewing on his thumbnail, looking around the table with a restless itch in his bones.

He was nervous, decidedly so. It was his turn to watch over the prince tonight.

The longer he took to reason with the fact that he´d be facing Dimitri after so long again, the more it seemed to take for the weight in his chest to dissipate.

Did His Highness even eat anymore? He had confided in Sylvain, years ago, that everything tastes the same to him. Would he want something chewy? Or maybe a stew or soup to warm his body? Does... 

Does Dimitri even _feel_ warmth anymore..?

With that in mind, the redhead decided for chamomile tea and an onion gratin soup. Heavy silver tray in hand, soup precariously rippling with each step he took toward the abandoned cathedral, Sylvain's heart picked up and soon he was reduced to nothing but clammy palms and racing thoughts.  
When he made his way up the cracked marble staircase, he almost tripped, entire tray violently clattering like his train of thought, racing on the fragile railway of his mind.

The main cathedral in Fhirdiad and the final resting place of Kings and Saints was large but mostly hollow.

It was only logical, Sylvain thought, that this is where His Highness would be around. 

The golden evening light filtered through the large stained glass roses, staining the immaculate high walls and pillars with blotches of blues and purple, bathing the centrale nave in a halo of ethereal beauty. It was peaceful right now, stepping through the large walnut and brass frame of the narthex held up by intricately carved wooden beams and centuries-old winding statues, chiseled marble shaped like the goddess to hold the second floor and shining organ on her spread wings.

The closer Sylvain got to the altar, the sharper the outline of the prince became, coming into view like an azure-colored mirage in a white stone desert. 

A quivering choked off sound clawed its way out of the confines of Sylvain´s throat.   
He needs to remember to breathe.   
The redhead inhaled deeply, the reflections of Loog, the King of Lions casting shadows and light that cut across his path.   
  
Dimitri was silent. Frozen on the spot, looking out towards the apse, back slightly curved and head tilted, as if he was _stalking_ something.

Sylvain's footsteps echoed off the marble tiles and came to a halt once he´d reached the transept, too anxious to speak up.

He did not need to.

Dimitris back straightened out and he cracked his neck.

A shudder skittered down the younger Gautiers spine, making the porcelain cup and bowl clink lightly.

_ "Leave" _


	2. Cold to the Touch

Sylvain bit back a whimper.

_I should not have come, this was a bad idea, I should not have come, this is bad, oh no, is he looking at me now? Oh no, don´t, please don´t hurt me, please don´t-_

"I said-" a few long, determined strides bridged the gap between their bodies in a matter of seconds, Dimitri now reaching out for Sylvain's throat and enclosing steel clawed fingertips into soft, yielding flesh. 

With a loud clatter, the silver tray is gone. The cathedral becomes dark like tar at the edges and so does His Highness.

A beast.  
A terrifying beast has wrenched him by the neck, the jet black shine of large scales and ever-present crest of Gautier crudely protruding from its demonic forehead flash before Sylvain´s eyes.  
Two engorged, crimson orbs pierce through him like the sharpest lance.

_"You are nothing brother, nothing but a worthless waste. If not for you-"_

A choked off breath died in the confines of Sylvain's ribcage, tears pricking at the droopy corners of his eyes, panic struck and full of fear.  
Then, his feet lose their footing and Dimitri lifts him off the ground, large menacing hand closing in deliberately around the column of the lightly freckled neck as if testing how far he could press until the redhead would go limp, like a dead dove in a wolfs maw.

**"Leave"**

A tremor and sob shake the crumpling form of House Gautier's heir, face quickly drained of its usual summery warm complexion and dulled to cold ash.

The prince leans in, scrutinizing gaze narrowing dangerously as he tips ever so slightly, a mere hairsbreadth away from Sylvain´s honey-glazed eyes.  
Long auburn lashes flutter shut, dampening as small tears wind down high cheekbones, freely gathering around a clenched jaw and down again.  
Dimitri´s blown pupils follow the path of crystal drops, delicate and ethereal, as they fall to solid stone.

_Plip._

_Plip._

_Plip._

Something in the Prince´s gaze shifts for a second and his eyes goes wide with fear.

He abruptly breaks off his one-handed chokehold and rears back, taking several heavy steps away from Sylvain as if burned by wicked flames.

Air rushes back into the older man's lungs, his form convulsing _pathetically. _He lifts his hand, touching with long, trembling fingers around his throat while looking for something to fend_ that monster_ off with.

His heart is hammering in his chest, fearing it may come to an abrupt stop with how overworked it is.

Flailing around for the knife he keeps in his belt, his movements come to a sudden halt as a muffled wailing snatches his attention.

In front of him, the broken cup and bowl are being carefully cradled into shaking hands, tea reduced to a vaguely translucent puddle, bits of shards, slices of onion and grated parmesan staining the otherwise pristine marble floors. 

Bringing the shards of domestic comfort closer to 

"Y-you" another sob "you brought my f-f" a hitched breath "favorite meal"

What tortured Sylvain was not the constricted sting of a cut wound on his pulse point near his jaw.  
It wasn´t the way his breathing hurt each time he inhaled through his lips.  
Neither was it the way his throat had shut off, a consistent lump of sorrow clogging up his senses.

It was Dimitri. Hunched over spilled soup and tea, crying and shaking while trying to scoop up what he had _ruined_.  
Dimitri, fat tears streaming down his chapped lips and clenched fists, head bowed and tainted by the dark blue hues of stained glass.

His sobbing filled the heart of the cathedral, like that of a young boy

_A young boy who lost everything._

For several long moments, Sylvain did not know how to react. He contemplated rushing over and cleaning the entire mess.

Instead, he took a long breath, quietly crawled his way to Dimitri and slid into the crying Prince´s view.

Dimitri's eyes focused on Sylvain's hands and opened his mouth as if trying to apologize and create distance, but he could not conjure a single word.

When Sylvain brushed his knuckles over the Prince´s cheek, trying to smudge the tears away, the young blonde flinched, shoulders drawing up and tensing taut like a bowstring.

"Shhh..." Sylvain´s patience was bottomless, he had trained horses for so long, this was no different than calming down a spooked animal, bittersweet in an almost grotesque way.

Dimitri's eye opened, bleary and watering, drowned in something that Sylvain could not quite put his finger on.

"It´s just me Your Highness...", keeping his touch featherlight, he traced the hollow of cheekbones, the jut of a chiseled jawline and pressing a soft thumb to his temple, taking all the time and care in the world to slowly dissipate the darkness cloaking them both.

He chuckled when Dimitri leaned his weight into a hand, gently nuzzling into it and letting out a long sigh.

"Sylvain..." Dimitri´s voice was strained, choked up from the dawning realization that he had mindlessly gone ahead and yanked his childhood friend by the throat, he extended a hand, shaky and hesitant.

"Your neck I am so so-" but he was cut off by Sylvain again. This time it was the gentle brush of lips against his own, chaste and sweet, like the soft aroma of spring roses and camellia. Startled, the Prince freezes on the spot.

It is over before it had time to properly begin. Sylvain's forehead is resting against his, their breaths mingling while their noses occasionally bump into one another.

The burnt sienna of Sylvain´s locks becomes an anchor, Dimitri finally being able to breathe again, if only for a little while. A soft hum envelopes him with a warmth he has not felt in so long...

"Do you want to... continue this somewhere else?", Sylvain's voice is quiet, like a snowflake joining others on a blanket of snow, fingers rubbing soothing circles into the Prince´s scalp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens and so does Dimitris boner.


	3. A Beast Starved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient with updates!  
I am usually really busy with either the workshop or drawing so I hope this chapter is acceptable ;;

A mere whisper was enough to make the sullen Prince let go of his restraints.

After their little exchange at the cathedral, Sylvain had offered himself up for the Heir of Faerghus, the pair hastily making their way through the castle grounds of Arianrhod. Clambering up the several flights of stairs while being tugged by Dimitri resulted in a bigger challenge than bringing the Prince his food.

The iron grip the younger man had on Sylvain's wrist felt like that of a bear trip, firm and unforgiving. Excitement and fear bubbled up Sylvain's throat as he pathetically tried to ease Dimitri into the hallway toward his bedroom, instead of getting caught pinned against a wall by the Crown Prince of Faerghus by any of his friends, or even worse Felix-

Stumbling into his Highness chamber, the tall blonde growled something feral under his breath, worrying Sylvains lip raw and tasting the budding copper blooming on his tongue. If it weren´t for how desperately Sylvain wanted this too, he would be berating the Prince on his manners, how he would never bed someone with how aggressive he was pawing at the small of Sylvain's back, how his grip alternated between bruising around his waist and heavily petting his crotch.

He would not be doing this at all, if it wasn´t for how scared Sylvain was of losing his friend, for how little he cared for his own well being and that he always had seen his body as a tool to make others feel good.  
  
It didn´t take long for the redhead to melt into incoherent moans, Dimitri grinding a firm palm against his length. Trying his best to balance on soft knees, ready to buckle between the strain of guiding Dimitri to the bed and his own arousal, a hot bundle of heat and flames simmered low in his gut.  
  
"Dimi-" a desperate mouth sought his out and once more their kiss swollen lips slotted together, albeit slower and measured, the heir of Gautier trying his best to keep the beast at an arm's length while he succumbed to the undoing of his own inhibitions.

Soon enough, the younger man licked his lips, lecherous gaze raking over Sylvain who was now splayed over the thick azure duvets, head lolling to the side in defeat.  
  
It was a dark gaze, full of unrestrained desire, clouded by something Sylvain could not make out, the haze of lust setting like a numbing poison in his head.  
Dimitri shut the chamber door, his eyes never leaving Sylvain´s line of sight and that alone should have alarmed something in the ginger, but he was too far gone to notice how the lock clicked and bolted the heavy oaken doors.

Dimitri was now stalking forwards, like a starved lion waiting for the moment to sink its sharp fangs into hot, tender flesh. He came to a halt between Sylvains knees, thighs bumping against them as he let his armor clatter unceremoniously to the ground.   
  
"W-wait your Highness, let me help-"

Sylvain's fingers were deft and plenty practiced, easily undoing the several clasps of the shoulder pauldrons, gauntlets, shin guards, chest plate... goddess above how much armor does the young Prince of Faerghus even wear?

When the last bit of steel was _finally _removed, Dimitri seemed to be unsure of whether this was right or not. The large fur cape slid down his back and pooled around his ankles, bare feet making the deep indigo plush fabric of the velveteen carpet contrast with his almost ghastly complexion.

Sylvain let his fingers intertwine gently into Dimitri's hair, tugging ever so slightly at the matted blonde strands, wincing at the feel of cold hands shakily gripping his wrists.

"I´m-" but before the blonde could even get out a sentence, his voice caught in his throat, clogging up like a tangle of jumbled threads pulled painfully taut.

Something in the Prince seemed to crack in just that moment, Sylvain's tender caress across the sunken cheeks and over the leather eyepatch making Dimitri shiver and breathing in sharply.

He seemed so... delicate, like this.

Fragile even.

The redhead slowly coaxed Dimitri onto the bed, the combined weight of them making the fluffy mattress sink bit by bit.

If it was not for the way his knees had turned into pudding, Sylvain would be straddling the Prince to massage out all the knots and pains of his worn-down muscles.

But- this should suffice for now.

He met Dimitri´s lips again, nipping at the worried flesh and smoothing a calming hand over the other´s back. He pulled a bit at the blonde hairs around the nape, his other hand slowly reaching to undo the tie of that black patch of leather. His movements were silken, liquid and smooth, without trepidation and all the care he could conjure in those freckled digits of his. Sylvain was supple like a single snowflake, care and love simmering low in his gut. He wanted to be useful. Be good.

His lips were getting swollen and soon they ran out of breath, Dimitri´s elbows suddenly giving out and toppling over Sylvain's chest, landing facefirst into the heap of soft pillows.

Sylvain couldn´t help the tiny giggle that bubbled up his throat as the younger man turned over and glanced in a daze at the redheads' small smile.  
The large scar left on his right eye was nasty, a terribly jagged slash, silvery and bumpy in all the wrong ways. The eye itself was milky white, the iris ripped and pupil damaged beyond repair.

It was grotesque but somehow, even in that state, Sylvain found it was like the most beautiful jewel he had ever had the honor to behold.

His shameless staring seemed to have caught up with his brain, quickly averting his gaze and opening his mouth to begin apologizing.

At that moment, Dimitri´s cold hand reached out and Sylvain let out a content sigh of defeat instead.

Maybe it was out of instinct but Sylvain reached over Dimitri's waist, pulling over the silky sheets and bundling them over the cold and bony shoulders currently resting against his chest. Frankly, Dimitri was shaking like a leaf, sobbing and overstimulated.

Even if he scowled on the battlefield, pierced through countless soldiers on the frontlines and mercilessly buried his lance into anyone who stood in his way- beneath all that strength and power- was a scared young man, heart bleeding out for the world to see.

Sylvain´s hands traced soothing circles on the younger man´s skin, absentmindedly tracing the slightly raised skin of scarred flesh and easing into a comfortable rhythm. While his fingertips moved over every ridge and crevice they could reach, Dimitri's breath began to even out, the tension in those anxiously bunched up shoulders slowly melting like snow.

"-vain..." a hiccup roused the young Gautier out of his reverie, hands stilling above the Crown prince's heart.

"Yeah..?" a whisper of a breath.

"Thank you..." 


End file.
